the world ends. quietly. in a whimper of skin. like the choke of a nightmare. all loud colors and foul scent. the tumble of time as it loses its grip. on broken kite strings.
the world penetrates in slits. shafts of sunlight that sneak through the darkness. the future decides her. In slips and stumbles. The clumsy momentum of trust. like the monsters in her bed. an ugly comfort.
the subtleties define her. a brevity of choices. Punctuated by a abundance of question marks.
the world ends in a pandemonium of skin. each touch louder, more urgent than the last. flesh like sirens. wailing. flickering colors. lost to bigger battles.
The war finds her before she does it. dull pencils tracing failing maps. the machine guns hiss. Numbers. years. faces. Growl and claw. Cornered animals. Sick with when.
She knew. Or thought she did.
The world tumbles. A feather in a vacuum.
The words stiffen in her throat. Concrete setting.
Monday
6/25/2012 01:00:00 AM
Sad Labels:
time travel
,
weakness
| Life Poems |